Betrayal by a Scrap of Cloth

Wiping clean the windowpanes,

I never thought

how the world could walk right in,

the last veil gone with the rinsewater,

even the leaves’ eyebrows darkened,

all the better to peep.

I never guessed

a square of cloth and two hours’ labor

could yield such a grave mistake.

Everything masters betrayal.

This ancient craft

transmuted through a rag.

Now I’m trapped, exposed.

Others’ greatest freedom

is the freedom to look.

In this complex and enchanting spring,

cubism strides free of the canvas.

Everyone has the power to break in.

Layer by layer, my days are stripped bare.

In my house hidden deep,

but beyond the walls unclothed,

I’m just a naked object,

a chair of crisscrossed peachwood.

Deep within its slats,

my mind paces.

If dust drowned the earth,

I’d retreat

to the core of that peach seed.

Only humans crave secrets.

Now I’ll pretend to be anything

but human.